Month: February 2019

February 27, 2019

Let’s pretend that I’ve been given an assignment to make ten statements at the close of this day in which Michael Cohen testified before the House Oversight and Reform Committee accusing President Trump of an expansive pattern of lies and criminality. What would I say?

1. Hearers and viewers each brought to the moment political biases and personal prejudices that shaped fundamentally what was heard and seen.
   
2. We shall probably never know the full and complete reason(s) that prompted Mr. Cohen to “expose” the President.
   
3. Mr. Cohen spoke forcefully, offering details for his generalizations.
   
4. Republican responders consistently used their question time to denigrate the personage, particularly the integrity, of Mr. Cohen.
   
5. It is to be seen whether Mr. Cohen’s claims of the President’s criminality are now followed with careful investigation of their veracity.
   
6. This provocative episode in Washington occurred while the President was out of the country, specifically in South Korea.
   
7. Within days or a few weeks Robert Mueller the Special Counsel investigating possible Russian interference in the 2016 United States elections will give his report.
   
8. I personally am depressed with Washington, all three arms of our government. Money plays too large a part not only in selecting who will represent us but also in subsequent decision making. 
   
9. Similarly, upon seeing and hearing representatives in their response to Mr. Cohen, I could not but help feeling that they were performing for people not in the room.
   
10. Mr. Cohen will be going to prison for lying to Congress (previous to today’s deliberations). My heart goes out to his family, and to him. 

February 26, 2019

On this welcomed day of sunshine, Pooch and I hiked in Fort Ben. There some ice remains. 

However the creeks were full and free.

The paths were muddy but they led us into lovely late winter woodlands. 

A pileated woodpecker hammered a dead tree; otherwise the forest was quiet. Sometime during the winter workers who left tracks felled dead trees.  

Pooch must think the old man is terribly slow. 

Because of the mud, we detoured around Duck Pond. Delaware Lake dressed nicely for this day.

Ah, the privilege of walking in nature.

February 25, 2019

Be it affirmed and re-affirmed. I am among the fortunate ones — I thoroughly enjoyed my career as a college prof. Yet this morning as I was walking Poochie I was grateful that today I didn’t have to

• face students at 8 A.M.
• attend a faculty meeting
• discuss a budget cut
• re-visit a student’s grade
• grade 40 papers
• write a reference
• prepare a lecture on Dante
• go to chapel
• sit through committee meeting
• obtain an internship source
• listen to a student’s confession
• run off another 40 copies
• try to clear the desk top
• defend the student’s editorial
• publish another article
• assemble tomorrow’s lectures

Now graduated from all of these actions, I just have to be.

February 24, 2019

Eighty thousand individuals — that’s 80,000 human beings — sit in solitary confinement this moment in United States prisons.

I can’t accommodate such a factum.. I can’t count that high. I can’t imagine even one of those cells. I don’t know how to empathize with any one of those prisoners.

Today I interacted with my spouse, our son, one of our daughters, two family friends, the neighbor to the north, a waitress in a restaurant, a man getting into his car and a homeless man on the street. Had it not been so cold and windy, I would have interacted with many more. I was not in solitary confinement. How can I understand it?

February 23, 2019

The sandhill cranes

(As a rule, I hear the sandhill cranes 
before  I  see them way up high.)

Deep in their wings sandhill cranes
know a northwesterly wind — 
instrument of yearly yearning.

Not enticed by brothel tunes
Not persuaded by national trumpets
They rise as a chorus in victory.

High above walls they raise their voices
exempt from checkpoint staffs
their visas in a permanent round.

Giving no ear to lower cacophony 
they sing their anthem, a cappella,
that doesn’t end in a question.

At their rest stop they sing and dance.

So strong their dream of bogs and fens
where they can continue to compose,
Their rise from their rest
and sing the second verse.

February 22, 2019

For much of the day I looked forward to this evening. There was nothing unusual about the day and there is nothing unusual about this evening. But in my 80s I find a pervading power from supper until bedtime that renews my thoughts and emotions.

Winter evenings I prefer the living room. Its decor, although simple, helps me to be me and not a wannabe. When the temp falls into the 40s, I light ash tree wood in the fireplace and like a kid, fuss with the logs using one of the iron tools. Behind the sofa is a CD player ready for anything from the boxes of mostly classical music. 

I like to establish the place and the moment using deep breathing exercises. I’m no yoga expert but I have been learning much from practitioners of yoga and mindfulness. A second basic for me is writing —any kind such as scribbling individual words, diary-type sentences, occasional poetry, gratitude lists, a letter to a friend— yes writing settles the dust of the day. That is, these exercises help me to forgive myself and others our failures and also to locate anew what all there is to be grateful for.

Usually a crossword puzzle wants to be on the agenda. Often an article of news analysis. Perhaps a novel. I have my favorite writers of meditations. 

There are many good programs on TV. Lots of good films to see. But for reasons I can’t define, I do not find my bliss in either TV or films. 

In four paragraph I failed to say that Rudy, my yorkiepoo, is either by my side or perched on the sofa back.

Indeed it’s all pretty nice. 

February 20, 2019

How might a local resident describe today’s weather to a creature living a thousand light years from us. It was chilly. It went above 32 degrees. It was rather dark. It snowed. It rained. It fogged. It slushed.

“Today it smogged.”

Surely a photo or photo collage would do better than words.

Or “today it smushed.”

February 19, 2019

Grandson Ben, a senior at Duke, has been given an assignment (1) to state the basis of his moral behavior and (2) to report on his actual lived moral behavior. He urged me to do the same. My first response to him was that I would have to report differently for various eras of my life. I showed him the following outline (with a few edits).

1. As a child

A. What was the basis for my morality?

—– (1) the “God-given law” to obey one’s parents
—–(2) the Old Testament’s ten commandments
—–(3) the teachings of Jesus
—–(4) the rules of the Mennonite Church
—–(5) the belief in post-death judgment and possible punishment in hell
—–(6) obedience to the laws of the land

B. Examples of my usual moral behavior

(1) not lying, stealing, cheating
(2) not using bad words (I got slapped for saying “confounded”)
(3) not listening to radio or tv, not going to places of amusement
(4) no dancing, no gambling, and of course no sex
(5) separating myself from non-Mennonites in attire
(6) trying to follow the letter of the law

2. Now … in my 80s

A. What is the basis for my morality?

—– (1) principles of ethical living that promote the good society
—– (2) those common moral principles shared by every major religion
—– (3) principles of peace and reconciliation
—– (4) the principle that enough is an elegant sufficiency
—– (5) the necessity of preserving the natural goodness of the planet
—– (6) the “laws” of art and science  

B. Examples of moral behavior

—– (1) I do not support war of any kind.
—– (2) I seek for ways to be a peacemaker in times of conflict.
—– (3) I try to live far on this side of excess. 
—– (4) I respect my marriage and love my family.
—– (5) I am multicultural in principle and action.
—– (6) I support the arts. I try to feed my mind with the best that I can find.
—– (7) I recycle. I am trying to end all use of plastic. I cultivate compost.
—– (8) I live in awe of what is beyond me.

Thanks to my grandson, a good exercise that could be made into a very long term paper.

February 18, 2019

This is a diary kind of day, actually a diary kind of week — a lot of stuff, some of it quite significant or at least consequential, yet convoluted enough to discourage smooth coherent writing. Some words. Some phrases. Quite a few empty spaces.

It begins with a family member’s slip on an icy sidewalk … a broken wrist … surgery … a thick cast … revised schedules … care taking … errands … food prep … laundry … pharmacy … 

Word gradually gets out and an echo comes back in various forms — a phone call, a note, a kettle of freshly made soup, a bottle of wine, a visit …

In my evening hour I try to quiet my anxieties. Am I doing well enough in caregiving? Have I been too protective?

And in the intervals I consider how quickly “things” can change. Strength, coordination, mobility. Independence. Priorities. Emotions. 

Some time ago we carefully studied alternatives, deciding then to remain in our house and neighborhood as long as we can comfortably occupy this space. This broken wrist sends a message — some day, sure enough some day we will know that different housing will be more suitable for us. 

No, we are not in crisis mode, not close to it. Today we both went out to make a house purchase and upon returning home I was able to spend a couple of hours sawing firewood, which, by the way, provides an evening benediction.

My new chapbook
  perhaps an inspiration for you
  perhaps a meaningful gift for a senior friend

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In my 80s
— what later life is for
J. Daniel Hess

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I was genuinely surprised that I lived to be 80. After the family’s birthday party I began to think about what an older person is supposed to be. I came upon pertinent comments and perspectives in my readings. And so began what has now turned into a chapbook of 81 pages.

This poem is included in the book.

Pastures   

She said we need pastures
for old horses. Preachers,
she meant, pulpit prone,
tethered to tenure, sure
of chapter and verse.

We chuckled, picturing that pasture
of former steeds and stallions,
broken, bent, old teeth
chewing at fence lines,
swishing flies from other faces.

Years have passed. She is long gone.
Sure enough, young Ph.D.s replaced us.
Their work is footnoted, not ours.
Post modern kids have tweeted us
to the corner of the back forty. 

Again we chuckle, we emeriti,
hardly believing where we are.
Into coffee shops we totter,
talk not tweet, shaping tall tales
into memoirs. We’re pastured nags.

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Lots of photos, including this one.

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$15.00 plus $4.00 postage and handling
If you are interested in purchase, contact me
jdanielhess@sbcglobal.net
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